


Ice

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abraxas buys Tom skates, that bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Christmas is no more fun as a wizard than it was as a Muggle.

Tom doesn’t say this, naturally. He smiles as though he cares, and listens indulgently when Mulciber and Rosier thank him for the expensive new watches. He feigns delight at the new cauldron set Black gifts him, and he wishes Professor Slughorn a serene, “Happy Christmas,” as he leaves the Potions classroom. There is no class on holidays, naturally, but it is a perfect opportunity for him to drop off neatly-wrapped wine and weasel a little closer to the only person in Hogwarts that might know what a Horcrux is. Well, other than Dumbledore, but Tom harbors no delusion that wine would get him anywhere there. 

He declines all offers to sneak out to Hogsmeade and to celebrate in general. Until Avery spills a rather nasty attempt at homemade eggnog all over the dorm room anyway, which seems to be completely impervious to all cleaning spells. Unfortunately most of the Professors with more magical skill than Tom (which, albeit, are not that numerous) are tied up at the moment, either with family, mistletoe, or correctly brewed eggnog. So Tom lets Malfoy drag him out to the lake, which has frozen over.

“Ice skating,” Malfoy grins. Tom scowls. Malfoy tugs on the strange footwear—thick boots with a blade on the bottom—and pats the snow next to him for Tom to sit down. Tom stands stiffly where he is and watches. Malfoy shrugs and pushes the pair he bought for Tom a little closer, then gets up on the skates, and pads down to the lake. He’s uncharacteristically wobbly as he goes, and all back to grace as soon as he hits the ice. He takes off like a water spider, dancing on a surface unable to be walked.

Tom stares with great disinterest and doesn’t touch his own skates. He digs his hands into his thick, fur jacket, and shifts back and forth in the snow with minor irritation. He hates the snow. But then, Tom hates a lot of things. Snow in particularly is cold, and it’s wet, and it comes with a host of stupid traditions, the vast majority of which Tom’s never experienced before Hogwarts. Malfoy seems completely oblivious to this bristling hatred and glides blissfully along the icy surface.

Abraxas Malfoy is—or rather, was—Tom’s least-hated ‘friend.’ He may not be the most muscled or intimidating of Tom’s gang, but he is the second most conniving (Tom being the first) and he is wealthy and well-connected. He has the means to carry out almost anything Tom requests of him, and their ‘friendship’ has never worked the other way around. Why on Earth Malfoy now thinks he has the privilege to lead Tom around, Tom has no idea. Malfoy looks like a poof in his too-fitting winter jacket and his ridiculous fur hat. His pants are too tight and his long, blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, cinched with a black bow. Tom has absolutely no desire to look like that and rakes a hand jerkily through his own short, dark locks. He’s more handsome than Malfoy, he knows, and he doesn’t have to try half as hard. The more Tom watches Malfoy twirl around the ice like a hyperactive court jester, the more he feels a burning loathing of just about everything Christmas-related boiling up in his stomach. Christmas is a filthy Muggle holiday anyway, and he can’t fathom why the wizarding community celebrates it. Ice skating is also a filthy Muggle tradition—wizards have brooms, for fuck’s sake, they don’t need stupid boots with shit stapled onto them.

Tom schools his face quickly back into an unreadable neutrality when Malfoy skids up the edge of the lake and calls out, “You should come try it! It’s great fun!”

“It is not,” Tom drawls casually. (Seething internally.)

Malfoy tilts his head to the side. “Have you done it before?” It doesn’t sound accusatory, not really, but Tom’s in an antagonistic mood.

“No, but I still know you’re a liar.” (All Slytherins are liars, but Tom means about this specifically and doesn’t bother to clarify that.) Malfoy shrugs it off, and Tom remains outwardly unaffected.

Malfoy frowns. “How do you know, then?” Then his eyes widen. He seems to realize, on his own, (probably helped along by Tom’s murderous expression) that he’s crossed a line. You don’t question Tom. Unless you want to find yourself in the endless dark void of the Vanishing Cabinet, or roped to some coral at the bottom of the Lake, whether it’s frozen over or not.

Malfoy grunts an awkward, “Sorry,” and swiftly skates backwards, before turning around and shooting off to the other side of the lake. Tom glares daggers at his retreating back and isn’t sure if he’s more bothered by Malfoy’s talking back in the first place, or his not finishing the conversation.

Tom doesn’t need to do something to know it’s horrendously boring and brainless. For example, he’s never kissed a girl, but he still knows it’s a complete waste of his time, when he could be doing more important things, like plotting immortality.

But the thought that Abraxas Malfoy, of all the ridiculous people, doesn’t believe him, bothers Tom more than he can even put into words. Uncontrollable rage isn’t something foreign to Tom. But it’s usually over something less stupid. He fumes down at the innocent ice skates before him, expensively engraved with his name, and most likely custom-fit. Malfoy puts money into his gifts, if not thought. The boots look harmlessly back up at him, and they seem to call, ‘wear me!’

A few minutes later, Tom is fiddling with the laces, sitting in the snow and hating every minute of it. But Tom hates most things. He’s going to do this just so he can say he did it, and say it’s stupid, and specifically so he can skate across the lake and catch Malfoy, who irritatingly hasn’t come back closer. Then he’s going to Crucio the blond git and make him eat snow for daring to defy Tom in any way.

When he stands up, he instantly gets an appreciation for Malfoy’s wobbliness. The boots feel odd around him, tight and corseted, and the thin blades don’t at all feel like adequate foot holds. He makes sure he’s regained his usual regal posture before stepping forward, careful every time he sinks into the snow.

Tom walks down at a pace that appears elegant, but is secretly just over-cautious. When he hits the ice, he steps on it tentatively. The orphanage went skating once; Tom stayed behind and raided the treasury.

The ice is thick enough for this, Tom knows. Plenty of kids have skated here over the past few days, and he has his wand in his pocket, just in case. Although, Tom always has his wand in his pocket, just in case.

Malfoy beams at him from halfway across the lake. Tom sneers back, and Malfoy’s face instantly falls, and he turns around and skates off to the far edge again. Smart move.

Tom moves one foot first and then quickly clamps them back together when they start to veer apart. The kick gave him a bit of momentum, and he slides slowly forward. He can literally see his skates cut into the ice. He goes a couple of meters, propelling himself forward with his torso, before deciding it’s safe to move his feet again. He does it exactly how he watched Malfoy do it and keeps his legs straight. A few more kicks and he’s got it right: the angle, the feeling, the movement. He can do this. It isn’t terribly complicated, and there’s nothing in Hogwarts that Tom can’t master.

Tom doesn’t do tricks. He doesn’t do fancy swirls, or figure eights, or frilly jumps. He’s impressive enough without all that and keeps his nose in the air as he moves. He glides in a casual arc across the perimeter of the lake, and Malfoy, wisely, evades him by mimicking the curve. When it becomes undeniable that Malfoy’s not going to stop, Tom seamlessly switches to cut across the lake, as though he’s been doing this all his life. He doesn’t stumble, and he doesn’t fall. It’s basic geometry and aerodynamics, really. Nothing complicated. Malfoy picks up the pace and moves even farther away.

Tom rolls his eyes and follows, swerving to try and cut Malfoy off, but Malfoy does an abrupt U-turn and heads off for the other side again. Tom leans further forward, just like Malfoy, increasing his own speed. He kicks his legs a little more fully, and begins to alternate quickly between them, like a shark closing in for the kill. Or a panther, hunting in the jungle. The hunt is always one of Tom’s favourite things, and the skates carry him along it far faster than his plain feet ever could. Every time Malfoy turns, Tom turns behind him, and his new footwear makes it wonderfully smooth and easy. The wind whips through his hair, and the thrill of the chase thrums through him, wild and alive. It gets his adrenaline up, and the December air turns his cheeks pink. He glides across the ice like he was born for this.

Malfoy glides like he was given expensive lessons, and maddeningly keeps out of reach, although Tom is slowly closing the gap. When they’re about a meter apart, Tom hisses over the wind, “Abraxas.”

Malfoy skids to a stop instantly. When their first names are used, they know they’re in trouble.

Tom elegantly skates past Malfoy, around him in a circle. Tom slowly grinds to a stop in this fashion, right in front of Malfoy’s face. 

Malfoy’s paler than usual. He sniffs and says flatly, “I apologize. Forgive me; I can return them for you and purchase you something more suitable.”

Tom arches an eyebrow. “You’re taking my Christmas gift back?”

Malfoy flushes. “Uh, if... if you don’t want them...”

Tom glances down at his boots and wriggles his toes in them. Malfoy can’t see this, of course. Tom looks back up and decides hypocritically, “I’ll keep them.”

Malfoy nods and doesn’t mention any of the things Tom said about them earlier.

But he’s probably mentally noting that, and Tom can’t have that. Tom is always right. He smoothly purrs, “Now. As I am clearly the superior skater, I’ll give you a two minute head start.”

“Head... start?” Malfoy asks, blinking, and looking every bit as worried as he should be.

“Before I curse you to pieces.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

Malfoy whirls around like the ice is on fire and darts across the frozen lake.

Tom stays where he is for exactly seventy-five seconds before deciding he’s waited long enough and charges after Malfoy.


End file.
